Flattery
by Gypsy Feet
Summary: When working with one such as Wonka, one had to adjust. So Charlie adjusts to life in the factory and things all seem impossibly perfect. It only seems natural that Charlie should meet The One during that time, but every good thing comes to an end eventua


**Flattery**

**By: Emmy**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. So don't sue me.**

**A/N: I wrote this because I had a flash of inspiration walking up the stairs and I've learnt to never ignoe them. So here we go and please leave a comment because I like to know what you people think and like.**

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It was somewhere in the realm of his thirteenth year that Charlie Bucket discovered the art of flattery. A complement here, a smile there. It all depended on the person; you needed to be able to understand them. Charlie Bucket understood everyone. Despite what his mother claimed, he'd grown up long before his age warranted and lost his innocence the day he first realized that death was only ever a step away. Maybe he acted less mature, but that came with the job description. When working with one such as Wonka, one had to adjust.

And adjust Charlie did.

It had started early on, when he noticed that Wonka expected Charlie to be on the ball constantly. As in, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. So Charlie changed his sleeping habits. Before the factory, Charlie had spent hours trying to bury the temperature outside and night sounds into the back of his mind until he fell deep into the realms of unconsciousness simply from exhaustion.

Now he embraced that awareness, always listening even for the smallest noise when sleeping, which helped when Wonka came and crawled into his bed mumbling something about nightmares. Those nights he often spent awake and listening to the older man sleep, often having to hold his breath in an attempt not to laugh at the absurd half developed sentences that escaped the man ('whales don't play cards' was Charlie's personal favorite) only to have that breath rush from his lungs all at once when the well-versed confectioner snuggled closer to him. When that happened he was very keenly aware of the fact that he owed everything (possibly even his life) to the man whose legs were wrapped scandalously around one of his own, whose arms were holding him so tightly that it was verging on uncomfortable and whose head was resting on his chest. And sometimes, despite the fact that Charlie had sworn not to, Charlie would find that his hands were sliding through Wonka's hair. Sometimes to soothe the Chocolatier from a nightmare, sometimes to soothe himself.

He felt like some sort of pedophile when he found himself in that situation, despite the fact that they were both dressed (Wonka in satin pajamas that reminded him of his father's and Charlie in an old top and boxers) and Wonka was at least double his age, most likely triple. He'd tell himself that it was a stupid way to feel. In fact, sometimes he even thought he'd dreamt the encounters up, because whenever he awoke (he never remembered actually going to sleep) Wonka was gone and never seemed to hear when Charlie brought the subject up.

So Charlie found himself changing things about himself (his sleeping and eating habits were the most obvious, though certainly not the only) to adjust to life in the factory. Wonka and he developed a strange friendship, one that avoided confrontation until one exploded (usually Charlie) and yelled at the other. That would start an argument of some sort that usually lasted the length of the day and almost always ended up with Wonka crawling into Charlie's bed at some ungodly hour of the night blaming a nightmare despite looking as if he'd gotten as much sleep as Charlie (none.)

With each argument their friendship grew stronger and stronger, and, after one particularly vicious argument that had ended up with Wonka turning up visibly shaking at one o' clock and Charlie latching himself onto the man so tightly that neither was quite sure who was doing the comforting, Charlie came to the realization that Willy Wonka, World Famous Chocolatier, had the self-esteem of an ugly rat. Naturally Charlie made it his personal mission to fix that.

So during his second or third year at the factory, Charlie Bucket began flattering Willy Wonka.

He was clumsy at first, overdoing it with the smiles and encouragement, which only seemed to make Wonka nervous that he was being patronized. Slowly Charlie learnt exactly what to say and when to say it. If Wonka came up with an idea he would add something onto it and let his hand rest on the man's back or arm for the barest of seconds, something that anyone else would have missed or ignored.

Wonka didn't. At first the man would freeze up entirely, stuttering a quote that he felt was appropriate or high-pitched giggle (both very individual nervous habits) before gaining control again and continuing on as if nothing happened. Slowly he grew used to it, smiling with childish pride each time and making a point of mentioning any idea that he deemed worthy.

With Charlie's newfound gift, he began using it on his family as well as his tutors (Willy had explained quite firmly to Mr and Mrs Bucket that Charlie simply could _not_ be taught outside of the factory) getting himself out of would-be sticky situations and chores. It seemed only natural when Wonka put him in charge of publicity.

Interviews became a highlight for Charlie, the Buckets' contact with the outside world had been lessened a fair bit thanks to the move, but that wasn't what delighted Charlie so much. Each reporter was different. Each reporter was a new challenge. He joked with the men and charmed the women.

For every woman that was attracted to the elusive, eccentric, rich and childish Wonka, there were two who adored the tousled looking youth whose boyish good looks (he had adopted Wonka's timeless features) and disarming dimples cried out 'celebrity' so loudly that even the deaf winced.

Everything was going good for Charlie, the Wonka industries boasted a tripling of profits since his arrival and every good women's magazine had a picture of him and Willy (who ventured out to some interviews, due to Charlie's careful encouragement, though usually ended up vomiting out anything he'd eaten when they returned to the factory and getting himself so drunk afterwards that Charlie had trouble recognizing him) and an interview that proclaimed Charlie to be the nicest young man and amazingly unaffected by his own fame (or some variation thereof.)

So really, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Charlie met _The Woman _during the twenty-first year of his life.

She was younger then he, and far shorter. He had grown into a tall and thin young man, though he made Wonka look like a stick. It was hardly his fault that he worked out in the weights room and Willy didn't, was it? But she… she was petite and polite and wore her makeup and clothing in a way that showed her classic beauty in a way that Charlie thought should be illegal.

He'd been on his way back to the factory after another interview and had stopped the cabby so he could buy his mother a bunch of flowers, she'd been the florist.

He was head over heels for her. Falling long and hard. Hell, if he felt like imitating Wonka he'd probably end up saying he was a believer. Because Wonka loved quoting old songs and wasn't there some song that went like that? Charlie was quite certain that there was and really he was digressing so he should stop thinking about the matter entirely.

God must've decided that he was one of the few to discover that love at first sight was, indeed, quite real and not some fictional hope.

From that day on he made a point of buying his mother a bunch of lilies after each interview. But, with all young love, much awkwardness ensued. The time came when he felt that she really must stop calling him 'Mister Bucket' and start calling him 'Charlie' but when the time came to tell her that his words all came out in a dreadful cliché sounding mess that made him wish he were a cocoa bean and the ground an Oompa Loompa.

She'd laughed at the color of his cheeks before quickly agreeing and, pressing his luck, he'd asked her almost immediately to go with him to the cinemas. Once again Luck had shown him her nice side and the florist, Penny, had agreed. Things progressed from there and he'd built up a solid, healthy relationship with her before Wonka found out.

The fight that ensued was nothing short of spectacular. Wonka had told him that everything would end in tears. Wonka told him to quit while he was still on top. Then Wonka had asked him (saying please for what Charlie was fairly certain the first time in at least three decades) and then, angry at his own guilt, Charlie had left his best friend in the entire world standing in the middle of the inventing room trembling with emotion.

Charlie stayed awake the entire night waiting fruitlessly for Wonka.

The morning came and he was tired in a way that was entirely new to him and he left the factory without eating breakfast in favor of the mindless safety he felt when in the presence of a certain young lady.

She comforted him with a kiss that sent his mind reeling in a way that only happened around her. However the years of his constant awareness alerted him to a flash and he turned to be greeted by several photographers and a few live reporters, who, as soon as he acknowledged their presence, began shouting questions. He blinked at them all, his mind hurling a million thoughts a second through his brain before he excused himself and Penny and led the dazed girl out the back where he snagged her keys and drove them both off in her mini.

He drove and drove until they were somewhere in the country with the sounds of cows drifting through the glass. He parked right there in the middle of the road and listened. Listened as she told him that she loved him. Listened as she said that he'd always be special to her. Listened as she said that she couldn't cope with media always hounding her. Listened as she said that perhaps it would be better if they stopped seeing each other.

Listened as she broke his heart.

Fine. It was all he could say because everything Wonka had said the night before was echoing in his head. He turned the car around and drove them back. He knew that Wonka had tipped the reporters off, no matter how indirectly. Just like he knew that Wonka would justify his reasons by saying that it was a test. Just like he justified what happened to the other golden ticket winners. Wonka would say it was a test. Wonka would say it was a test that she didn't pass and that Charlie should have listened when he had the chance. Charlie wished a pox and a plague on the man. She kissed him on the cheek when he got out. He didn't say goodbye because finality was something he'd always hated.

He walked to the factory, let himself in and made his way to his rooms only to find Willy Wonka, dressed in silk pajamas, lying in his bed and staring at him with wide, lilac eyes and an intriguing almost-smirk. Every ounce of anger he'd harbored at the man disappeared under that gaze and, without thinking, he slipped his shoes off and climbed under the sheets into the comforting embrace of his friend.

"You know, for some weird reason, I almost wished she was worthy of you."

With his head resting on the older man's chest the voice sounded stranger then normal.

"You're a bastard." The words lacked a lot of their former vehemence, which made it sound more like a statement then an insult.

There was a chuckle, indulging and enduring, reminding Charlie that this man was guilty and innocent in equal parts.

"You know, whilst I was waiting I had this really nifty idea: Very Fruity Voice Blocks. You eat them and then you get a good singing voice! Wouldn't it be neat? I mean, I've even got the commercial figured out!"

The man was insufferable! Could he not see that Charlie's world had recently fallen apart? And that he would still have to deal with the media?

"I don't know…" he was only saying this because he was still angry, "It sounds kinda cliché to me."

There was an indignant snort before Wonka replied with a witty "Oh yeah? Have you got anything better?"

Charlie frowned at the patronizing before casting his eyes around his room in search of inspiration.

"Actually I do. Edible Cacti."

The bark of laughter resounding from the man whose leg was wrapped in both of his, whose middle was surrounded by his arms and whose chest he was using as a pillow was the only reply he received. In the silence the ensued Charlie's body reminded him that he hadn't slept the night before and his last coherent thought was that if he was half as comfortable as Wonka then he completely understood why the man sought comfort from him.


End file.
